Verse for Forgiveness
by nacht zeit
Summary: denied of closure, bereft of hope. / The nurse at the station eyes them carefully as they enter. The hesitation does little to give way. So Koujaku is the one to flash a smile saying, "we're here to visit Mizuki," while giving the hand in his a reassuring squeeze.


It doesn't rain on the day that they decide to go, something of note for Koujaku who feels that the sun shining isn't appropriate for a day like today.

No one is speaking while they walk, but Koujaku is holding his hand and Aoba leads the way across the sparsely populated street.

When they arrive almost everyone is reluctant, especially Aoba, whose fingers barely touch the door before he steps back, biting his lip. So Koujaku does it for him. He hardens his heart enough touch the handle and push forward, taking Aoba with him. The nurse at the station eyes them carefully as they enter. The hesitation does little to give way. So Koujaku is the one to flash a smile saying,

"we're here to visit Mizuki," while giving the hand in his a reassuring squeeze.

The nurse checks the roster, happily notes that it's visiting hours for him; off-handedly says that "you're lucky he's been rather stable as of late" and then gives them the directions to the floor and the room. Koujaku watches Aoba, unsure of what to make of his reaction: an amicable nod and a smile on the surface, but if he goes by the way his hands are slowly losing blood circulation, it doesn't fool him.

Once they reach the room, Aoba lets go of his hand, and Koujaku doesn't wait for Aoba to gather up the courage to open the door. Tough love, he thinks. Immediately regretting it when they're both finally inside. When he turns to look at the other man, his eyes are downcast, his hair shielding his face. Koujaku wants to reach for his hand again but really, this isn't the time. So he scans the room, finding Mizuki standing by the window, looking outside. Before he can make their presence known, Mizuki turns around, eyes widening, then somewhat unexpectly, his expression softens and he greets them with,

"I saw you two on your way here. Didn't think you'd visit me."

This is when Aoba looks up, smiling, the light in his eyes almost restored to its usual glow.

"Mizuki I-" he begins. Aoba wants to apologize, to catch up; he wants to say so much.

Koujaku watches the exchange silently.

Mizuki is still smiling, albeit weakly. Something feels off. The look on Aoba's face falters, realization dawning even before the green-eyed man before them can speak. But nobody in the room is much of a mind reader anyway. Not without anybody getting hurt. So Mizuki gets to speak.

"So uh, who are you guys?"

Something clicks. Something shatters. Something breaks.

"Aoba." Koujaku says, gesturing the man standing beside him. He doesn't turn to look at the expression on his face, but he hopes that Aoba is trying to smile right now. "And I'm Koujaku."

"Right." Mizuki nods. He walks over to his bedside table where a notepad lies on top and a pencil right beside it. He takes it in his hand and scribbles the new information on.

* * *

Their parting conversation is a painful affair for everyone. He remembers Mizuki saying that he won't remember any of this tomorrow, with a remorseful look on his face. When he makes note of Aoba's expression, he takes his note pad once more and waves it in front of him.

"But you can come back often, I'll write down everything you say so I can read it before you return next. You know, to help jog my memory."

There's for it, it's on the tip of Koujaku's tongue but he doesn't say it. Blind faith. Somehow it's rather characteristic of Mizuki, which would make it seem like he hasn't changed at all. Perhaps that is true. But Koujaku can't place the pinpricks in his heart. He doesn't know what to think right now, what came over him when he suggested that they visit, what he wanted to accomplish.

They're walking side by side, on the way to his house. He tries to study Aoba, but can't read the expression on his childhood friend's face. And that's when he realizes it. Part of it, at least. And he tells himself, "don't be selfish, Koujaku."

It makes him feel guilty and he wants to apologize for it, but before he brings it up he remembers that Aoba can't ever. That if he does say something to Mizuki, it isn't going to stay with him.

They are both resolute, thinking it best to apologize, quietly, everyday. Than to have somebody forgive you over and over again. That way, the pain becomes one-sided, to the person who inflicts it, where it belongs.

When they enter his house, Aoba looks at him properly, for the first time today, and smiles.

"Koujaku," he says, and guiltily, Koujaku thinks that he's grateful he can immediately recognize the tenderness in his voice, what it entails and all Aoba's reasons (and the things that took place) behind being able to say it that way.

The taste of the kiss that punctuates Aoba's thanks is soft and bittersweet.

Koujaku thinks it should be raining, that is should rain right now, that what this day needed was lighting and thunder-loud booming thunder- to drown out everything, to wash away, to cleanse.

But that afternoon, the sun continued to shine, taunting, as if anything was possible.


End file.
